“I love you like I barely had a land to call my own.”

I remember when I was the only sin you liked to kiss.

I loved each and every one of your faces.

Tear me open and rest inside me.

Here I am, a mosaic of becomings.

I am a child of borderlines and we are two lands, carved differently.

For once I want to be something that lasts.

I’m sorry only I can both drown you and be the summer that dries it away.

This foundation can only take the beating of one heart.

When you kissed me you breathed air into my lifeless soul.

I am unbearably human.

The most beautiful parts of your body are those you had to grow again.

Somewhere in these walls we’re still dancing, feeling nostalgic and much too in my head.

Depression is the way my eyes have learnt how to close more than open.

I’ve got nothing left to give but I keep digging deeper.

Read the scars on my body like braille, for I no longer know how to tell a story that belongs deeply to me but is no longer mine.

Living is not living when I am living without you.

As soon as the land of any country has all become private property, the landlords, like all other men, love to reap where they never sowed, and demand a rent even for its natural produce.

Mister, I ain’t a boy, no I’m a man, and i believe in a promised land.

To be a poor man is hard, but to be a poor race in a land of dollars is the very bottom of hardships.

The land flourished because it was fed from so many sources–because it was nourished by so many cultures and traditions and peoples.

The shore is an ancient world, for as long as there has been an earth and sea there has been this place of the meeting of land and water.

If the King loves music, it is well with the land.

Ocean separates lands, not souls.

They are ill discoverers that think there is no land when they can see nothing but sea.